


Leave Me At the Shore of the Heart

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders POV, Angst, Character Death Mentioned, F/M, Friendship, Justice is here too for a bit, Romance, set during Act I, tentative relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20458202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: On the eve of the Deep Roads expedition, a chance conversation between Anders and Bethany sparks feelings neither of them expected.





	1. Chapter 1

“Well, Blondie, you’ve done it again. Congratulations.” 

Varric’s voice cut through the din, his chuckling laughter unmistakeable in the ruckus made by the Hanged Man’s evening clientele. He clapped Anders on the shoulder and chortled into his tankard. 

“I’m not sure congratulations are in order,” Anders said. He plucked a card—the Song of Temerity—from the scattered hands on the table and spun it around between two fingers. “Considering it was another catastrophic loss on my part.” 

“Yes, but I’ve never seen anyone lose so _badly,”_ Varric said. “I’m starting to wonder whether you do it on purpose, just for our entertainment’s sake.” 

Across the table, Fenris—the evening’s winner—smirked smugly. Hawke grinned her usual grin, her knee bouncing up and down vigorously, a symptom of her inability to sit still for long. Isabela leaned against the table, her breasts pushed up until they looked like they would burst out of her tunic. Merrill still clutched her hand, a frown knitted between her brows as she pieced together why her cards did not match. Aveline, meanwhile, observed the table with a knowing look, the hint of a smile on her lips. 

And Bethany Hawke sat quietly in her chair, squeezed between Anders and Aveline at the corner of the table. She had refused to play with the rest of them, content to watch. She argued someone had to be responsible Hawke sister and keep her savings intact. They had paid Bartrand’s expedition in full, but Bethany wisely wanted something to fall back on in case they came up shorthanded. 

This was a night of celebration, a final gathering before they went their separate ways. Hawke, Varric, Bethany and Isabela were all pledged to go with Bartrand’s expedition into the Deep Roads the following day. The invitation was extended to Anders—as a Grey Warden, he had supplied them with the relevant maps and advice. But as a Grey Warden, he had no desire to step foot in the Deep Roads ever again and politely declined. 

“It was quite astonishing, I must admit,” Isabela continued, threading her fingers through her tankard. “Even Merrill’s learned better than you.” 

Merrill flushed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Well, I do try. What I don’t understand is there’s a Serpent of Avarice. Are snakes particularly greedy? I don’t recall ever seeing a greedy snake. Or any greedy animal, for that matter. Except maybe magpies.” 

“Let’s not get into it now, sweet thing,” Isabela interrupted gently. “I’ll explain later, yes?” 

Merrill made a face. “If you say so.” 

“I’ve seen Gamlen make better plays,” Hawke added, leaning back in her chair. She lounged casually, resting her feet against the edge of the table, her empty tankard dangling from her fingers. 

Bethany made a face. 

“Though I have seen him make worse,” Hawke continued, “so I don’t think you’ve quite reached his level yet.” 

“Wonderful,” Anders said. “I’m glad I won’t be adding ‘worse than Hawke’s drunken uncle’ to my list of unfavourable character traits.” He flicked the card across the table. It skidded over the wood and fell face-up next to Fenris’ tankard. The elf shot him a glowering look and took a slow drink from his cup. 

“It seems you owe me three sovereigns,” Fenris said. 

“I’ll add it to the list, thanks,” Anders replied hotly. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t gamble so recklessly next time.” 

“What you call reckless, I call determined.” 

“And now you’re three sovereigns short.” 

“At least I own up to my mistakes. That last hand you played—” 

Fenris shrugged and took another drink. 

Varric nudged Anders. “Let it go, Blondie. Let it go.” He lowered his voice, eyes scanning the table as arbitrary conversation emerged once again. “I’ll send you something to pay the elf back. Wouldn’t want that clinic of yours to go under for the benefit of spending time with your friends.” 

“I don’t need your charity, Varric—”

“Oh, trust me, Blondie, you do,” Varric interrupted. “You might not want it, but you certainly need it.” 

Anders bristled. A blunt retort—his usual defense, developed after years of isolation and ordeals—died on his lips. He bit it back, forced himself not to let it out. Varric was showing him unexpected kindness, kindness he did not deserve. Especially not from a man he had known for barely six months. 

Varric’s eyes brightened and he smiled knowingly. “See? I knew you knew how to have friends.” 

“Oh, I know how to have friends,” Anders said. “I’ve had a great many friends. Sadly, most of them are dead. Or Grey Wardens. Or locked away in the Circle with their minds destroyed.” His jaw clenched and his throat tightened. Karl’s memory still bled fresh. 

Varric’s smile faded. “I knew I could always trust you to sober a conversation.” He sighed wearily and gulped down a mouthful of ale. 

Conversation sprouted around Anders, but he did not feel inclined to join. After years in Darktown, it felt odd to be surrounded by casual company. Most days he avoided the Hanged Man—public spaces like these were not favourable places for apostates. Anders was known in Kirkwall; there were people in Lowtown who recognized him as the mage who ran the Darktown clinic. Maker, he had probably treated half the people who stumbled through here. But you never knew which drunk would get it in their tipsy head that an apostate was a wanted fugitive, and the templars would pay handsomely for their capture. 

Even here, surrounded by Hawke and her friends, there was safety in silence. The less he said, the less he would be noticed. Anyone looking at their table would see the eclectic mixture of mercenaries, elves, a guardswoman and a merchant dwarf. They wouldn’t see a mage because they wouldn’t be looking for one. 

_It shouldn’t be like this,_ he thought. _I shouldn’t have to hide. I should be able to come here, freely, without fear of drunk patrons turning against me—_

A surge of righteous anger swelled in his mind. 

Justice. 

Always present. Always watching. Always part of him. 

Always a reminder. 

“He means well,” Bethany said quietly. “You should give him a chance.” 

“What?” Anders turned to her, jarring him out of his thoughts. He fought to push the swelling anger down, burying it, locking it away. _Not now._

“Varric,” she said. She nodded pointedly in the dwarf’s direction.

“Yes, I, erm…” He stumbled over his words. He sighed, trying to clear his mind. He glanced at Hawke’s sister, meeting her eyes. Brown eyes. Kind eyes. Laugh lines around the corners when she smiled. 

She smiled an awful lot, despite her circumstances. He wondered how she managed. 

“You’re right,” Anders said. “I should.” 

Bethany ran a hand through her hair, combing out the tangled, knotted mess at the back of her neck. “You should give them all a chance,” she continued. “Even when they’re being complete asses.” 

Anders snorted. That was unexpected. He had never heard her utter profanity before, and somehow, he had assumed it just wasn’t part of her vocabulary. 

“What?” Bethany said, brows knitting together. 

“Nothing.” 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. She looked very much like her sister then—particularly the look that Hawke had when she was pissed. 

Anders chuckled nervously and crossed his arms. “Bethany, may I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“Do you feel like you belong here?” 

His eyes swept over the table, taking in the casual tableaux before them: the familiar way in which Hawke argued with Aveline, retracing the same well-worn arguments they circled back to again and again; Fenris oscillating between glowering and laughing; Merrill’s bubbly spark of curiosity as a million questions fell out of her mouth about the new world she had been thrust into; Isabela loudly calling for more drinks and bartering with the bartender to toss in a few for free; and Varric, overseeing it all like a proud father. 

Their casual friendship was clear even to the most oblivious outsider. 

“I don’t know,” Bethany said. She tugged on her hair. “I can’t say I’ve felt like I belonged anywhere since Lothering.” She raised her chin. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.” 

“Some would say that’s naïvely optimistic of you.” 

“Is it?” Bethany countered. “Do you really think it’s naïve to want something good in your life?” 

“Wanting doesn’t mean you’ll have it,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “But to blindly accept the alternatively… well, I’d say that’s _naïvely pessimistic,_ don’t you think?” 

Anders paused. “You got me there,” he said after a moment. 

“And between you and me,” Bethany added, “I’ve had enough of that. Between Mother lamenting the loss of the estate and Gamlen bemoaning how he lost everything—even though it’s entirely on his own head to begin with…” She shook her head. “Kirkwall was supposed to be a new start for us. I suppose that’s in my hands now.” 

“Even though you’re an apostate?” he asked. 

“Do you think things would be different if I wasn’t?” Bethany said. “I think I’d still have the same problems, with or without magic.” 

“No. But they’d be easier without the threat of templars knocking on your door.” 

“True.” 

The tavern minstrels chose that moment to strike up a new reel, the rush of music coinciding with Isabela’s raucous laughter. Hawke grinned and shouted something at her that was lost in the din. Aveline rolled her eyes; Fenris chortled. Varric banged a hand on the table to emphasize his words; Merrill’s eyes brightened the way they did when she understood a new reference. The cacophony—bright and loud and overwhelming—swallowed up the table. 

Anders couldn’t hear a thing. 

Bethany tapped him on the shoulder. Her words were lost to the noise. 

Anders leaned in. _“What?”_

Bethany cupped her hand around her mouth as she shouted into his ear. “I’m going to go home. Do you want to leave, too?” 

He nodded. 

They stood, pushing their chairs back and squeezing away from the table. Anders extracted himself quickly, but Hawke touched Bethany’s arm as she turned to leave. Bethany leaned in, giving a quick explanation. Hawke tilted her chair further back, arching her neck to make eye contact with Anders. 

Hawke gave him a deadly look. _Make sure she gets home safe or I’ll end you._

He nodded. 

Hawke tilted her chair back and it thudded onto the floor. 

Anders sighed wearily and made his way out of the Hanged Man, Bethany close behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Twilight had descended on Kirkwall. The sky was a deep, murky violet, a few faded stars desperately shining through. Dark clouds blotted out the moons. The evening air was cold and crisp and saturated with the scent of stale alcohol. 

Bethany rubbed her arms. “That’s better,” she said as they walked away from the tavern doors. 

“Better?” Anders said. “You’re freezing.” 

“My fault,” she replied. “Should have brought a cloak. You would think I’d know how to prepare for anything by now, but…” She shook her head. 

“It doesn’t come naturally, does it?” Anders asked gravely. “You rely on magic, even for the simple things. Like keeping warm.” 

Bethany laughed. “Look at you, figuring me out just by looking at me.” She folded her arms, tucking her cold hands into her armpits. “I wish I wasn’t such an open book.” 

“You’re not, I promise,” Anders said. “I happen to know enough about you to make a few educated guesses.” 

“Your educated guesses are awfully on the nose.” 

They came to a stop not far from an intersection of winding roads. Bethany cast a furtive look around, searching for shadows in the dark. Seeing no one, her shoulders relaxed, the tension easing away from her. She withdrew a hand and cupped her palm. She breathed into it, lighting a small, twinkling flame. 

“There,” she said, smiling at the flickering flame. It danced in her palm, casting a golden glow on her face. “That’s better.”

Anders stared at her. “You’d risk that? Here, on an open city street, just feet away from the Hanged Man?” 

Bethany raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please. One little flame and you’re treating me like evoking unscrupulous magic under the Knight-Commander’s nose. Besides, you’re not one to talk. I know what you and my sister and your friends get up to when I’m not around.” 

“Now who’s making it sound unscrupulous?” Anders said. 

“I heard you threw a ball of lightning at the Redwater Teeth and zapped them to little bits.” 

“That’s an inelegant way of putting it. I cast a galvanized tempest around our enemies—” 

“I like ‘threw a ball of lightning’ better,” Bethany interrupted. “Less jargon. More to the point. Sounds less like you’ve got your head stuffed in a book.” 

“Ah, well, I—” Anders paused, losing his words. He glanced at her. She smirked, brown eyes dancing mischievously. “Is that really how I sound?” 

“You’re Circle-trained,” Bethany said, picking up the pace once again. They rounded the corner and turned down a winding thoroughfare that carried them away from the market district and further into Lowtown. “I’m not.” 

“Your father trained you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “He was in the Circle here. Met my mother. Escaped to Ferelden. I was never clear on all the details, but it’s no good asking Mother now. But from what I remember, it’s a story ripped right out of one of those books Varric likes to write.” 

“Morbidly romantic and painfully tragic?” Anders offered. 

“Some would say so, knowing what Mother had to give up,” Bethany said. “But then Mother and Father had Marian. And me and Carver. And we were happy, for a long while. So, it’s not really all that tragic when you think about it.” 

Their footsteps echoed softly on the pavement as they crested a hill and started the long climb down. The cobblestones were loose and uneven, every third wobbling underfoot. 

“I’m glad,” Anders said. “That your father found something so many have been denied.” 

“Yes,” Bethany replied softly. “I’m fortunate. Still doesn’t make it hurt any less.” 

“I know.” 

They walked on. The sky grew overcast, dark clouds drawing over distant stars. A murmur of thunder rolled in the distance. Anders tasted the electric tang that preceded a storm and he quickened his pace. 

“What’s the hurry?” Bethany asked, hurrying to keep up with him. Her flame flickered in her palm, casting light across the empty street. Long shadows followed them along the walls like murky assassins. 

“You should get home before it rains,” Anders said. 

“Oh, Maker,” Bethany sighed. “I’m not going to break if I get rained on. I don’t mind a bit of rain—actually, I quite like it. It smells fresh. Clean. That’s a rare commodity in Lowtown.” She raised her palm, throwing light into his face so she could see him clearly. Her eyes were narrowed. “Did my sister put you up to this?” 

“She asked me to make sure you got home safely.” 

Bethany exhaled sharply, a puff of air blowing a loose lock off her forehead. “Right.” 

“Asked is maybe a little too generous. It was more like threatened.” 

“Andraste’s ass,” Bethany swore. “Sister, I swear you’re such a bitch sometimes.” 

Anders chuckled. 

Bethany rounded on him. “What? Something funny?” 

His laughter faded, stopped by the blazing look in her eye. “Why do I feel like you’re going to burn my eyebrows off if I tell you?” 

“You’re not helping your cause,” Bethany said flatly. 

“Fine,” Anders said, sighing. “If you want the truth—” 

“I do.” 

Anders looked at her. She stared at him, hard. _“If_ you want the truth,” Anders began again. “I never hear you swear. I foolishly thought it was something you didn’t… Well. It was an assumption. A bad one. I’m sorry.” 

Shit. He was unravelling, and far too rapidly. Bethany watched. Her hands closed into fists, snuffing out her flame as she crossed her arms. 

“Your sister, on the other hand…” Anders spread his hands. “You’re much more similar than I thought.” 

“I see the compliment,” Bethany said. “And I thank you for it. But I don’t feel it.” 

“You… don’t seem to like your sister much.” 

Bethany stopped walking. “What? I—no, that’s not true, not at all!” She flushed and folded her arms tight. “I love Marian, but we are very different people. And I know I’m younger, I’m not as smart as she is, but I don’t want to live my life standing in her shadow. I’m my own person.” 

She blew out a puff of air and walked forwards, seemingly propelled by the force of her words. “For instance,” she said, “why do you people call my sister Hawke? I’m a Hawke, too, you know. She doesn’t have a monopoly on our last name. Or she shouldn’t. We’re both Hawkes. But she’s _the_ Hawke. She’s the one Athenril and the rest go looking for. And I’m the sister. I’m just Bethany.” 

Her arms loosened and she gestured pointedly as she spoke. “She’s been like this since Carver died. My brother, you know. He was killed by an ogre when we fled Lothering.” 

Anders met her eyes. A flash of recognition—a memory of the last time he was in the Deep Roads, the attack on Amaranthine. He knew the weight of what she said all too well. “I’m sorry.” 

Bethany nodded. She chewed her lower lip. No tears came to her eyes, though the trauma of the memory was clear on her face. It had not yet passed, nor was it likely to. “Carver kept the templars away. Marian, too. But it was Carver who convinced them. Every year they came and every year he said the same thing. He’d be standing in that field, working the way Father taught him, and when they came, he’d grab his sword—and I cannot stress how large this sword was, it was tall, taller than me, I think—and he’d stand there. And heft his sword and say, ‘Do you really want to bother a farmer?’” She laughed at the memory and shook her head, closing her eyes. “And they’d walk away. Every time, they would walk away. Stupidly tall Carver with his stupidly tall sword.” 

She opened her eyes and sniffed, pain etched across her face. She twisted her hand and conjured the flame once more. “But he’s gone now. And Marian… I suppose she just wants me to be safe. Safe from templars, safe from gangs, safe from even the bloody rain.” She looked up, lifting a palm towards the sky. A few drops of rain fell, glistening on her skin. The glowing flames danced across her skin, unhampered. “Sometimes I wonder if Mother puts her up to it.” 

“Would she?” Anders asked. 

Bethany sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Anders. I really don’t. I suppose part of me knows that she would, but another part of me doesn’t want to admit she’d be that… controlling.” 

They walked, down more steps and along a street. Thunder rolled, but no lightning flashed across the sky. It was raining in earnest now, the heavens pouring down upon them. Bethany’s flame shone through the wet and the cold, a single light in the dark. 

Bethany tilted her face upwards, enjoying the coolness of the rain. Her dark hair plastered across her neck and forehead, and her skin glistened with droplets. Despite the bone-chilling cold, she seemed to be enjoying it. A low glow, almost like a haze, surrounded her—her magic, pulling instinctively on threads of the Fade, weaving it around her like a shield. Her clothes remained dry. 

_It probably reminds her of home,_ Anders thought. _Soggy Ferelden and its mud and its rain._

He envied her. Her ability to accept her pain and move forwards, even if her wounds were still raw. She found pleasure in the smallest of things, in the strangest of places. It was remarkable. 

“You’re wrong,” Anders said some moments later as they wound their way down the street. Her uncle’s house was nearly in view. The rain pelted them, lashing against the cobblestones and the high tenement walls. He felt waterlogged, his clothes weighing him down. 

“About what?” 

“You said you’re not as smart as your sister,” he said. “Your sister is fearless, sure. But earlier this week, at the Wounded Coast, she tripped over her own two feet and fell off a cliff. She’s the first one into a fight, but she also allows herself to get flanked and then forces her way back out on strength and speed alone. She’d walk right into a trap without bothering to check first. She never slows down, and it’s admirable in her own way, but as her healer, I am… exhausted.” 

Bethany made a face, but nodded nonetheless. “That’s a familiar tune,” she said. “Did she tell you how she got that scar on her nose?” 

“There’s a scar on her nose?”

Bethany chortled. “Why do you think she wears that ridiculous red streak?” she said, tapping the bridge of her nose. “To hide it.” 

“Huh.” Anders rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel as though I am now the carrier of explosive ammo.” 

“Use it wisely.” 

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He glanced at her, falling serious once more. “And then there’s you. Who haven’t once, in all the time I’ve known you, over-exerted yourself. Who calmly approaches the situation at hand and thinks about it before running brashly into danger. You’re subtle, Bethany, and there is intelligence in that. Even now, you’ve cloaked yourself in a barrier to keep out the rain.” 

She frowned, puzzled. “You… didn’t do that?” 

“No!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been standing around in the rain because I’m an idiot looking for self-punishment and I didn’t bloody think of it.” He paused. “It’s… genius.” 

Bethany blushed. “Oh. Well. It’s simple, really, nothing fancy—” 

Anders sighed. “That’s my point, Bethany. Your intuition is your greatest strength.” 

They came to a halt. Gamlen’s apartment loomed above them in the dilapidated tenement. Bethany raised her head, frowning at the dark roof above. “We’re here,” she said. 

“Oh, good,” Anders said. “Your sister won’t try to kill me, then.” 

Bethany shook her head. “She wanted you to make sure I got home safely,” she said. “But what about you? Who’s going to make sure you get back to Darktown safely?” 

“Justice,” he said. 

Bethany stared. “I…” Her expression fell. “All right.” 

_Shit. I’ve made things awkward. What a way to remind her. Nice pleasant conversation, a nice pleasant walk, and, oh, by the way, did you remember that I’m an abomination?_

“Anders?” 

“Hm?” 

Bethany was standing on the steps that led to her front door. She held the door partially open, fingers clinging to the handle. “It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s raining. Why don’t you come in.” 

Anders stared at her, shuffling back and forth, exceedingly aware of how drenched his clothes were. “I… I wouldn’t presume—” 

“Just come in.” 

“Your uncle—” 

“Not here, thank the Maker.” 

“Your mother—” 

“Also not here. We Hawkes have lives, you know.” 

“Your sister—”

“Is at the Hanged Man. Besides,” Bethany shrugged. “I doubt she would mind. It’s a long way to Darktown.” 

“It’s where I belong.” 

Bethany exhaled, long and loud. “Dear Andraste, don’t you understand what a friend is? Don’t stand out there in the rain.” 

Anders hovered, indecisive, standing beyond the threshold. He had done as Hawke asked. Bethany was home safe. He should return to Darktown, return to his clinic, prepare for the unknowns tomorrow would bring. There was no need to continue this conversation, no matter how much he enjoyed it. There was no need to accept her invitation, no matter how much he liked her company. There was no need for any of it. 

Other than he wanted to. 

“Anders,” Bethany said. “Come on.” 

She disappeared into the apartment. He hurried up the steps and followed her into her home.


	3. Chapter 3

Gamlen Amell’s apartment was small and threadbare. A desk stood in the corner, covered with letters, many half-written. A few simple paintings hung crooked on the wall. A bookcase with a handful of old but well-preserved books stood in a corner, next to an armchair that smelled strongly of stale alcohol. A pot with bright lilac flowers stood on the sill of the single window, carefully pruned and cared for. A mabari hound lay fast asleep on the worn-out rug in front of the fireplace. 

He could see Bethany and her family in every inch of the room: her sister in the writing desk, where she no doubt managed her smuggling contracts; her uncle in the ale-soaked chair; her mother in the well-loved books; and her in the flowers. There was something so normal about the apartment, he felt overwhelmed. 

Uncertain what to do, Anders stood awkwardly by the door. Bethany swept across the room to the fireplace and gently nudged the dog out of the way. The mabari whined, shuffled to the side, and went back to sleep as Bethany knelt in front of the hearth. She chuckled fondly and gave the dog a pat, then went about lighting a fire. She added fresh wood and kindling to the fireplace, then gestured, setting it ablaze. The fire crackled merrily, illuminating her in a soft, warm glow. 

“There,” Bethany said. “That’s better, isn’t it?” 

“It’s… nice.” 

Bethany placed her hands on her knees and glanced over her shoulder. “You can come in and sit down, you know.” 

“Thank you.” He shuffled forwards, his soaked clothes weighing him down. He sat gingerly in a chair by the hearth. The mabari’s eyes opened and it growled suspiciously. 

“It’s all right, Alaron,” Bethany hummed, stroking the dog’s fur. “That’s just Anders. He’s a friend.” 

The dog shut his eyes, but the growling continued. 

“He’s really quite friendly,” Bethany said. “He just doesn’t like being woken up.” 

Anders chuckled. “He can probably smell the cats on me.” 

“Cats?” Bethany’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted a cat. We had kittens on the farm, but they were strays. Carver and I found them in the barn. We fed them and played with them until they got bigger, and then they slowly wandered off, one by one. They never came back.” Her expression fell. “The darkspawn probably ate them.” 

“Cats are resourceful when it comes to darkspawn,” Anders said. “You’d be surprised.” 

“Oh really?” 

“I had a cat once, when I joined the Wardens at Vigil’s Keep. Ser Pounce-A-Lot.” 

Bethany laughed. “You named your cat Ser Pounce-A-Lot?” 

“Call it childhood wish fulfillment.” Anders sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “He was a good cat. Clawed a Hurlock commander right in the face once. I asked the Warden-Commander to make him a warden as a joke, but I think she seriously considered it.” He paused, frowning. “Though I suppose none of us wanted to actually find out what the Joining would do to a cat. I’m glad we never found out.” 

“The Warden-Commander?” Bethany said. She sat back on the rug, hands tangled in Alaron’s fur. “You mean the Hero of Ferelden?” 

“Yeah. I suppose that’s what they call her.” 

“You know her?” 

“Know her? Lived with her, worked with her. She’s the one who made me a warden.” He paused and looked away. “Those were better times. I was a better person then.” 

“You’re a fine person now,” Bethany said. 

“No. I’m really not.” 

Bethany looped her loose hair back, pulling it over her shoulder. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “You shouldn’t say things like that about yourself, you know,” she said. A spark of magic encompassed her hand and her aura glowed brightly. “It makes it harder in the end.” 

“To do what?” 

She smiled simply. “Live.” 

The aura faded, her spell complete. He was no longer drenched to the bone, his clothes aired and dried as if they had been placed in front of the fire for a long evening. Her hand lingered on his knee. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“No need,” she replied. “Just try to remember you’re a mage and there’s more possibilities for magic than casting galvanized tempests at random bandits on the highway.” 

Anders snorted. He caught her eye, chuckling, and she held his gaze, her mouth working furiously to contain her laughter. She swept to her feet and sat down on the chair opposite his, laughter bursting out of her. She lowered her head, hand pressed against her mouth, and shook with mirth. 

“This level of domesticity is not consistent with what they teach in the Circles,” he said. 

Bethany leaned back in her chair, balancing one foot on her knee. “Truly? Then what do they teach in the Circles?” 

“That’s a very good question. Mostly how to control your powers.” 

“But what does that mean?” 

“I…” Anders paused. “I don’t know. Don’t burn down the Circle, don’t talk to spirits, don’t accept deals from demons, don’t escape the templars. I’m a complete failure, as you can see.” 

“But I don’t understand,” Bethany said. “That’s not magic, that’s common sense. Aside from the templars, of course.” 

“Are you saying I have no common sense?” 

“Anyone who is friends with my sister has no common sense.” 

Anders shrugged. “Fair point.” 

“What I meant to say,” Bethany continued, “is that every Circle mage I have met has a narrow definition of what magic can and can’t be used for. Aside from healers, Circle mages are either experts in combative magic or defensive magic. Seems to me like it’s a failure on the Circle’s part to not consider other possibilities. They say they’re scared of us, but then they lock us up and teach us to cast barriers and glyphs and wield primal forces?” She shook her head. “It makes no sense to me.” 

Anders stared at her. “I… never thought of it that way.” 

Bethany pointed at her flowerpot on the windowsill. “Do you know how much sun we get through that window?” 

“I’m going to say… none?” 

“Yes. Exactly.” She raised an eyebrow. “Nothing grows in Lowtown, everyone knows that. It’s all rock and stone and dirt. But I wanted to grow things. I miss my home. I miss the farm and my garden. So, I made my own. Coaxed it up out of the dirt with my own magic. It’s bloomed for a month now.” She folded her hands in her lap. “It’s not much, but it makes me happy.” 

“I think it’s beautiful.” 

“Do you?” Bethany said. “It’s not fancy—” 

“It doesn’t need to be—” 

“—but it’s mine.” 

They looked at each other. A small smile pulled at Bethany’s lips. Rain lashed against the window and thunder boomed outside, but within the fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting its warm glow across the room. 

There was something peaceful about being here with her, as if all the worries and anxieties that were part of his daily life were smoothed away. An oasis in a desert. A buoy in a storm. It wasn’t just her calm demeanour, or the way she accepted him without question. It wasn’t only that she was kind and smart and quietly beautiful. Her stubbornness, her humour, her conversation, her history—all of it had been offered to him with in complete faith, with no hesitation. 

Bethany Hawke had surprised him tonight, in more ways than one. 

He took her hand, threading his fingers between hers. “Bethany—” 

She stared at their intertwined hands and nudged her chair closer to his. “You don’t have to be so alone all the time, Anders,” she said. “You have friends here, even if struggle to admit that to yourself.” 

“There’s you.” 

“And every last person who was at that table at the Hanged Man,” Bethany added firmly. “And I think you like them, too.” 

He glanced away. 

“Take Varric,” Bethany said. “How many drinks did he buy you tonight, all at his own behest?” 

“Too many—” 

“An awful lot.” Bethany’s words spoke over his. “But you didn’t have the heart to tell him that it doesn’t matter how strong your alcohol is, it’s about as effective as drinking water.” 

“You caught on to that, I see,” he said. 

“No, not really,” Bethany said. “It was Merrill who pointed it out.” 

“Damn it, Merrill.” 

“But what I did notice, Anders,” Bethany continued, “was the card game.” 

He rolled his eyes. Were they really going back to that? “Yes, yes, I know, I’m _hilariously_ bad at Wicked Grace—” 

“No, you’re not,” Bethany interrupted. “You’re quite good, but you’re at a disadvantage. They win because they cheat, and I imagine you can’t cheat when there’s an embodiment of Justice living inside your head.” 

Anders let go of her hand. He stood up, stepping around the mabari and walked to the hearth. He leaned against the mantlepiece, staring into the dancing flames. Outside, the rain thundered on. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Bethany stood. “Three matches and you think I wouldn’t notice?” she said. “Why play with them, knowing you will always lose, unless you like genuinely them? Consider them your friends?” She stepped towards him. 

“I… suppose I was looking for something,” Anders said quietly. “Something I haven’t had in a long time. I hoped I would find it in them.” 

“You can.” 

“I can’t.” He stared into the flames, refusing to meet her eyes. “You know what I am, what I’ve invited upon myself. My solitude is my own doing. It’s better that way. Safer, for everyone.” 

“I think that’s bullshit,” Bethany said sharply. 

He closed his eyes. “Bethany, try to understand—” 

“I understand all too well,” she said. “I’ve been an apostate my whole life, remember? I’ve had spirits and demons speak to me. And I have an imagination. I can see your situation quite clearly. And I think you are doing yourself no favours by isolating yourself. And I know you know that.” 

_Maker, she’s making this hard._ She said she saw things clearly, and it was not exaggeration. She cut so deftly through any presumptions he had created, it was like a spell itself. 

And he was grateful. 

Deep within his mind, Justice rumbled his disapproval. 

_Stop that. I’m allowed to like her._

Justice disagreed. 

He winced, rubbing his forehead and shut Justice out. “What would you have me do?” he murmured. 

“Talk to us,” Bethany said. “Visit us. Do as you did tonight; you can’t stay locked away in Darktown forever. You aren’t chained to your clinic.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “At the very least, talk to me. I’m here—” 

He turned abruptly, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her, flooded with warmth, his mind a haze. Bethany fell into him, locking her hands around his neck, reciprocating with a fierce kiss. She pushed him back, the mantlepiece pushing into his shoulders, her mouth hot and warm and sweet. 

“Bethany,” he murmured against her lips. “I…” 

She kissed him. His hands slipped down her back, pressing into her waist. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “There’s no need for reason, no need to explain.” She pulled away, brown eyes finding his. “Though if you want the truth of it, I’m tired of feeling alone. Overshadowed. I haven’t been myself since I came here, and just for one night, I want…” Her hands snaked into his blonde hair, pulling the leather tie free. His hair fell loose around his shoulders. “Is it wrong to want something you’ve been denied for so long?” 

His fingers grazed her face. “Never.” 

The mabari by her feet opened its eyes and raised its head. It growled, hackles raised. 

“Alaron,” Bethany said without looking a him. “Hush.” 

The hound’s tail beat back and forth, thumping against the floor. 

Bethany kissed him, any sense of hesitation or caution thrown away. Her lips parted, deepening the kiss, and she clung to him, one hand resting on his cheek. Anders slipped a hand through her dark hair, cradling the back of her neck. The unfamiliarity of desire flared. It took him a moment to recognize it for what it was, it had been a long time, too long, not since Karl. He had long ago assumed that part of his life was over. But he felt it, strong and true: desire for her, desire to be close to her, to do more than stand here and kiss her. 

Anders pulled away and rest his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “I would go with you,” he said. “If you would have me.” 

She nodded. She kissed him once, light and chaste, and took his hand in hers. “Then come with me,” she said. 

Bethany led him across the apartment and across the threshold to the room she shared with Hawke. It was small and cramped, more like a cell than a bedroom, with no window and two small cots shoved into opposite corners. A number of unlit lanterns and candles dotted the room. Bethany raised a hand and gestured. The candles flared to life, glowing brightly. 

It was unexpectedly pretty. 

Bethany turned to him, hands nervously pulling at the ties at the front of her tunic. Anders caught her hand, stopping her. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said. 

“I want to,” she said. “I’ve just never…” She flushed. “I’ve never done this.” 

“I… see.” 

“Have you?” She spoke so quietly, he barely heard her. 

His mouth was dry. “Yes.” 

Bethany nodded. “Isabela teases me.” 

“Isabela is needlessly cruel sometimes.” 

“She’s fine, she just doesn’t understand, I think.” Bethany gripped his hand, her fingers lacing through his. She shot him a furtive look, walking a fine line between the bashful and the suggestive. “Kiss me?” 

He ran a hand through her hair, brushing it over her shoulder. His fingers rest against her collarbone. He smiled and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Bethany murmured something imperceptible against his lips and wrapped her hands around his waist. She walked backwards, her legs hitting the edge of her cot. She sat down, pulling him with her. She lay back on her cot, the wood frame creaking beneath their weight, hair fanned around her head. 

She kissed him, her fingers clasped around his neck. His hands slid down her body, cupping her breasts, her curves, her waist. He fiddled with the ties of her tunic, pulling the front open. The exposed skin of her breasts glowed in the candlelight. 

He was lost in her. He let go, allowing himself to forget the storm that occupied his mind: Kirkwall, the knight-commander, Karl, the mage underground, his clinic, the Grey Wardens, all of it. Justice fumed in his mind, resisting his moment of willful ignorance, the spirit’s disapproval manifesting as a pounding headache. Anders ignored it, disregarded it, locked it away. 

Not now. Not with Bethany. 

She deserved more than that. 

Laying beneath him, half-undressed, hair mussed, Bethany smiled. She gripped the hem of his tunic and pulled it up. He helped her, tugging it off over his head. Her brown eyes scanned his body, taking in the battle scars he had accumulated during his days with the Warden-Commander. She pressed a hand to his chest, fingers running along a silver scar that ran across his side. 

“Did it hurt?” she asked. 

“I can’t remember,” he said. “Probably. Getting tossed around by darkspawn does that. Now you know why I refused Varric’s offer.” 

She laughed sadly. “You couldn’t heal them with magic?” 

“I did,” he said. “I was… less talented then.” 

She pressed a hand to his cheek and gazed up at him. “Would you teach me?” she asked. “Healing magic?” 

There was a forceful earnestness in her eyes. 

He swallowed hard. “Yes. Of course.” 

Bethany sat up, her hair streaming around her shoulders, and kissed him. Slow. Hard. Full of intent. He grunted against her lips and pulled her into his arms, her naked skin smooth against his. She chuckled and wrapped her arms tightly around him, fingernails pressing into his back. 

He kissed her and tried not to think. 

How he hadn’t intended for this to happen. Not tonight. Not ever. And certainly not with Bethany Hawke. 

How, all things considered, he wanted it to happen. He was happy it did. Especially with her. 

How, as they fumbled their way around each other, foolish and uncertain—one of them making a new discovery, the other awakening old, forgotten skills—he was grateful she had stumbled her way into his life.


	4. Chapter 4

With no window in her room, Anders could not know how much time had passed. Whether it was still night or if it has passed on to early morning, he did not know. He did not particularly care to find out. 

The candles still burned, sustained by Bethany’s magic. Wax dripped down their sides, pooling at the base. They were squeezed together on her cot. He held her in his arms, watching the candlelight flicker. She was asleep, breathing steadily and freely, a faint flush on her cheeks. She nestled against him, fingers laced between his, keen to hold onto him forever. 

_This was a mistake._

Anders sighed and stared at the ceiling. That wasn’t his thought—at least not entirely—but Justice’s. 

_What now? You were a fool to fall for a pretty face and a compliment or two. Leave her be. Return to your work._

He slammed a fist into the mattress. 

Bethany’s eyes opened. She twisted around, concern in her eyes. “Are you all right?” 

“I… Yes.” Anders raised a hand to his face. “Justice doesn’t approve.” 

Bethany pursed her lips. “I imagine not.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “It must have been quite strange for him.” 

“Not… _that.” _Anders groaned. “He doesn’t approve of distractions, so to speak.” 

“Is that what I am? A distraction?” 

“I don’t know.” He lowered his hand. “Do you know what your intentions were?” 

She sighed, shaking her head. “No. I don’t. It’s…” She inhaled sharply and brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

“We have that in common, I suppose.” 

She nodded sadly. “Is it all right? That I don’t know?” She sat up, running her hands through her hair, braiding it and unbraiding it as she spoke. “I’m always the one who thinks first and acts second. Part of me wanted to me more like my sister. There’s freedom in spontaneity. I wanted to know what that was like, if only for a moment. I’m sorry that my impulsiveness involved you.” 

He sat up. “Bethany—” 

“It was nice, really,” she said. “And I’m glad for it. Answers so many of my questions. Maybe Isabela can stop teasing me now.” 

He scowled. “Surely you don’t intend to run straight to our friends and boast about what happened, do you?” 

“No!” Bethany exclaimed. 

“I’m fairly certain your sister would kill me.” 

“I’d stop here.” 

“There’s no force on Thedas that can stop Hawke.” 

“There is,” Bethany said pointedly. “It’s called another Hawke. Meaning me.” 

Anders sighed. “I’m trusting you on this one, Bethany.” 

“Good,” she said. “It’s about time someone trusted me.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he put an arm around her, holding her close. “The point I was trying to get to… Usually I don’t like open-ended questions. But I don’t mind this one.” She rested a hand on his chest, fingers gently pressing into his skin. “If you don’t mind.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know what I think.” 

“If it’s too much, it doesn’t have to mean anything—” 

“It’s not too much—” 

“You just said Justice—” 

“Forget about Justice.” His grip around her shoulders tightened. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Forget about the spirit living in your head?” 

He closed his eyes. “That’s not what… That’s not what I want to think about right now. Please. Understand that.” 

She nodded and said no more. 

They lay in silence for some time, still entangled on the small cot, listening to the falling rain echo on the rooftop. The apartment was quiet, with no signs of Gamlen or Leandra or Hawke returning. Across the room, a handful of candles winked out. Bethany raised a hand and made a tiny gesture. Her magic swooshed across the room and relit the fading candles. 

“I’m leaving soon,” Bethany said. 

“I know.” 

“Bartrand’s expedition.” Her eyes turned downcast, solemn. “I haven’t told Mother yet. She’s going to be upset.” 

“Then don’t go.” Anders shifted and the cot creaked under his weight. “No amount of treasure is worth the Deep Roads, believe me.” 

“It’s the only hope we have of reclaiming the estate.” 

“It’s still not worth it,” Anders insisted. “Besides, how badly do you want to live there? Becoming a Hightown lady, with servants fussing over you, guardsmen watching your every step in the name of protecting you—” 

Bethany laughed. “It’s Mother who wants it, not me. But I could be Lady Amell.” 

“Not Lady Hawke?” 

“As we’ve already determined,” Bethany said sharply, “my _sister_ is Hawke—or Lady Hawke. I would be Lady Amell. It’d be nice to have my own name.” She closed her eyes and leaned into him, fingers trailing down his chest. “I suppose the shoes would be nice. And the dresses.” 

“You’d look very beautiful.” 

“I know.” 

“Very well-suited for any spontaneous invitations to Orlesian chateaus.” 

“I _know.” _She paused and gazed out at the glimmering candles. “It’s a nice dream. I want Mother to have that.” 

“So, you’re insistent on going, then?” 

Bethany groaned. “I’m not about to let Marian do this on her own. You said it yourself, she’s a magnet for trouble. Someone has to make sure she stays out of it.” 

“Bethany, please.” Anders brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek. “Please listen. The Deep Roads are bad. Truly bad. Hawke will do as she pleases, but if you have a chance, _please_ take yourself off the expedition. Someone else can go in your stead. Maybe Fenris.” 

“I’m going,” Bethany said firmly. “You can’t change my mind. But if you’re so concerned, why don’t you come along?” 

Panic festered within him at the thought. He felt the incredibly strong desire to bolt from the bed and flee. He hated the Deep Roads, and with good reason. He swore he would never go back, never find a reason to be trapped there again. Never fight darkspawn again. 

Never. 

_Never._

“…Anders?” Bethany asked quietly. 

“No,” he said. “I can’t. Don’t ask that of me again.” He pushed himself to the edge of the cot and stood up. He gathered his clothes and clumsily began to dress. 

Bethany watched in confusion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend—” 

“It’s fine,” he said, realizing his trousers were on backwards and he didn’t particularly care to fix the problem. 

“It’s not.” 

“It is.”

“When you say it like that, I know it’s not.” 

He exhaled sharply. “You can be infuriating, you know?” he snapped, pulling on his tunic. 

She folded her arms, a scowl darkening her brow. “And get far too angry, far too quickly.” 

“That’s what trauma does,” he retorted. He buckled his belt and grabbed his boots. “How would you like it if I told you to go home to Lothering, even if it was still overrun with darkspawn?” 

“That’s a poor comparison,” Bethany said. “Given that the Deep Roads were never your home.” 

“No,” he said. “But they will be my grave when my time comes. If I live that long.” He finished dressing, his rumpled clothes mussed from his haste, and hovered by the door. He didn’t want to leave her like this, but he couldn’t fight the desire to flee this conversation by returning to Darktown. “I have no intention of finding an early grave there.” 

“That makes it sound you think we’re going to die down there.” Bethany’s eyes flashed angrily. 

“It’s a very good possibility,” Anders said. “And I don’t say that to be harsh. It’s based on what I know and what I’ve experienced.” 

“You didn’t die.” 

“I’m a Grey Warden, in case you’ve forgotten. None of you on this preposterous expedition are.” 

“All the more reason for you to come with us.” 

_“I won’t.”_ Anders met her eyes, his resolve flaring angrily. He was angrier than he thought he would be at her persistence. It felt strange to be mad at her. He could see her points clearly; from her perspective, they were logical. Reasonable. Why shouldn’t the expedition include a former Grey Warden? He was potentially the most valuable person Hawke and Varric knew, and yet he refused to have anything to do with it.

The Deep Roads were one step away from the Void. He did not want to return there. 

“Please, Bethany,” he begged. “Leave it be.” 

She swung her legs around to the edge of the cot and stood up, wrapping her linen bedsheet around her. She stepped across the room, the sheet trailing after her like some ghostly marriage veil. “All right,” she said. “I won’t mention it again.” 

He lowered his head, grateful and exhausted. “Thank you.” 

“If I can’t convince you to go, then you can’t convince me to stay,” she added. “I’m going with my sister.” 

Anders couldn’t meet her eyes. 

His throat was dry. He swallowed hard. “I was afraid you’d say that. Is there really no—” 

She shook her head abruptly, cutting him off. She glanced upwards. “The rain’s stopped,” she commented. “You should go.” 

He nodded. “I should. If I don’t see you before you leave—” 

“Don’t.” 

He put a hand on her shoulder and gently kissed her forehead. “Be well, Bethany,” he murmured. “May Andraste guide you.” 

He left her standing there, bedsheet slipping around her arms, hair mussed around her head like a halo. He could feel her eyes boring into his back as he walked away, crossing the threshold into the apartment and disappearing out the front door. It was still dark outside. Kirkwall was still in the grip of night. 

The guilt hit him a block away. 

He ducked down an alleyway, the sloping cobblestones leading him down and down on a shortcut to Darktown. He placed a hand against the wall and leaned heavily into it, his breath caught in his throat. He was desperate to walk back to the apartment and re-live that conversation, find something, anything, that would convince Bethany not to go. 

But he couldn’t move his feet, he couldn’t say a word, and so he stayed in that alley, panting, fighting a fight no one else could see. Save for one. 

_You had to leave her,_ Justice said. _She has no place in your mission._

“She’s a mage, Justice,” Anders said. “She’s involved with this, even if she doesn’t know it.” 

_She is complacent._

“She doesn’t know any better. She’s lived an isolated life, she’s never been to a Circle. But she knows the trials, the tribulations—she was never exempt from them. Her experience was only different. She’s no more fortunate than the rest of us.” 

_You must leave her behind. If she cannot seek justice, she has no place. _

Anders groaned, hissing through his teeth. He forced himself to move, dragging himself down the alley. “Stop saying that.” 

_You cannot fulfill your purpose with her in your mind. I am Justice, not Desire nor Sloth._

“It’s _your_ purpose,” Anders snapped. “And I’m still human.” 

_You are not wholly human. You accepted me. The purpose is ours. Combined. This is what you accepted. You must acknowledge it._

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. The headache was building again. “Back there… When I yelled at her about the Deep Roads—was that you?” 

_I pushed a thought you had already arrived upon. You do not wish to return to the Deep Roads. If she goes, she cannot impede your purpose._

His gut twisted. “You bloody, insolent little—” 

He swore, yelling himself hoarse as he pushed his back into the wall and sank onto the cobblestones. The headache thrummed in his temples. 

_You are angry._

“Shut it.” 

_You are angry, but you are revived. You can see your purpose clearly._

“You wanted me to stay away from her, so you made me… you made me…” He slammed his fist against the wall, the shock of the impact shuddering up his arm. Blood welled up along the split in his skin. He laughed hollowly. “I fucking hate you some days, you know that, right?” 

_Perhaps this is why you carry so much self-loathing. I am you. Hating me only means you hate yourself. _

Anders closed his eyes and tilted his chin up. The sky cleared, the clouds now gone. The deep violet of the night faded into the grey haze of a rising sun. Somewhere far in the distance, the Chantry rung its bells. Morning had come. 

“Maker,” he said weakly. “I hate when you’re right.” 

_I am here to aid you, Anders. Nothing more, nothing less. That is the deal we made, is it not?_

“Yes,” he admitted. “Go away.” 

Anders dragged himself to his feet and made his way down the alley. Several shortcuts later, he wound his way into Darktown and his clinic. Already folk were gathering outside, but weary as he was, he pushed through the line and stumbled across the threshold, muttering apologies. He locked himself in his small, dank room, collapsed on his cot, and slept. 

When he awoke, twilight had descended once again on the city. He rose, sweat-soaked and feverish, and walked through his clinic in a daze, his thoughts a chaotic mix of Bethany, of Justice, of the Deep Roads and the fucking expedition— 

Aveline stood on the threshold, arms crossed, a severe look on her face. “Anders,” she said. “Are you well?” 

He stared at her. “Yes,” he replied sullenly. 

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” she said. 

“I can’t imagine you came all the way into Darktown just to insult me, Aveline,” Anders said. “What do you want? Trouble in the guard? Did that one guardsman you’re sweet on have an accident and you need someone to patch him up?” 

“No,” Aveline said. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Anders folded his arms. “I’m sure you don’t.” 

She sighed. “I only came to deliver a message. From Bethany.” 

Anders’ eyes widened. “What did she say? Did she—” 

“She said she was sorry,” Aveline said gravely. “That it was her chose to go with the expedition, not yours and not her mother’s. She wanted to go into the Deep Roads. She said to tell you that she promises she will be safe.” She raised an eyebrow. “She was surprised you weren’t there. She thought you would be, considering you think the expedition’s futile.” 

He swallowed hard. “I was… erm… I was…” 

“It’s all right,” Aveline said, chuckling. “We all had one too many drinks last night. There’s no shame in that.” 

“That’s not what I…” He shook his head. “Never mind.” 

Anders was frozen. He was rooted to one spot, nodding absentmindedly as Aveline relayed the rest of her message and saw herself out. Even after she departed, he could not move. 

She shouldn’t have gone. She risked too much for someone else’s dream. Her choice was foolish, brought on by desperation to ensure a good life for her mother and prove she was different from her sister. 

But it was her choice nonetheless. 

_You’re doing her no credit by underestimating her,_ he thought. _She’s a talented mage. She will be fine. You’ll just have to wait for her._

And he did wait. He waited as the days and weeks rolled by, long past the time the expedition was due to return. He waited for news, waited for word, any word. He waited, not knowing that when the news did reach him, it would not be what he expected. 

That the expedition was successful. 

But Bethany—bright Bethany, shining Bethany, hopeful Bethany—was lost forever.


End file.
